


unmended fences

by honey_wheeler



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, F/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-26
Updated: 2012-05-26
Packaged: 2017-11-06 01:11:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/413066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honey_wheeler/pseuds/honey_wheeler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’s still got that pesky honor, Jon Snow does; it somehow manages to be both Val’s most favorite aspect of him, and her least. It makes him a fine man. It also makes him an inconvenient lover.</p>
            </blockquote>





	unmended fences

**Author's Note:**

> From the kinkmeme prompt: _Prompt: Jon/Val - This time, it isn't Jon who kneels. Because Jon Snow needs oral sex too._

He’s still got that pesky honor, Jon Snow does; it somehow manages to be both Val’s most favorite aspect of him, and her least. It makes him a fine man. It also makes him an inconvenient lover. Each time she has to convince him anew, has to overcome his reservations and his feigned reluctance – he’s too hard the second she so much as touches him for it to be anything but feigned – to get him to lie with her. If he weren’t capable of giving her such pleasure, of reducing her to a mewling, quivering ball of pure red feeling, it might not be worth the effort.

“Jon Snow, you are far too much work,” she tells him on a sigh. “Must I always convince you?”

“I’m sorry,” he tells her unhappily, and he means it, is the thing of it. Val has never known any man to be so conflicted about so many things in all her years. But then she thinks conflict over desires is far more a trait of kneelers than of freefolk.

The first time she’d knelt before him, she’d realized the value of it. She could hear the nerves mingled with need in his voice when he’d asked what she meant, what she was about. His words had broken apart at the first touch of her tongue to his cock, dissolving into a torrent of sounds, his babble like that of a stream. He’d gone to pieces for her, shaking and pulling at her hair, forgetting his gentleness, forgetting the care that was such an integral part of him in a way that thrilled her to the soles of her feet. 

“Did I hurt you?” he asked gently afterwards, after he’d pushed her to her hands and knees and rutted into her from behind like an animal, rough and primal the way she’d wanted him to be, the way that made her toes curl and her cunt squeeze so tightly she felt she might turn inside out. He’d curled one hand in her hair, cupped the back of her skull with careful fingers and searched her face for absolution.

“I’m made of tougher stuff than your southron ladies, Jon Snow,” she’d told him. “You’ll not break me.”

“Val,” he’d said, still unsure, still too fucking honorable and decent, and she’d stopped his words with her hand at his mouth.

“You didn’t hurt me,” she said. “You fucked me, and I hope you’ll keep doing it.”

Taking him in her mouth has become her surefire tactic. Nothing else slips so easily through his defenses, not her kiss, not her touch, not the temptation of her body revealed to him. To those he manfully clenches his jaw, swallows hard and looks away. Taking hold of his hand and sliding his fingers directly into her cunt works better, but still takes some doing, some coaxing and convincing. His cock in her mouth, however, puts him firmly in her thrall, an abjectly grateful heap of a boy who might sell his soul if only she asked its price.

The sloppier she is, the more he likes it, the more it gets under his skin. Not that he doesn’t enjoy it otherwise, but he is most unleashed when she attacks him like something melting, urgently licking and sucking and getting her tongue all over him, sucking him deep into her throat and swallowing around his cock. He likes to hear her approving moans, likes to see her face wet and shiny with his release so that he may lick her clean and suck her tongue into his mouth the way she sucked his cock into hers. If she ever articulated such a thing to him, he’d deny it, bluster on about honor and vows, but she knows him well enough by now to tell when she’s got him truly unraveled. All the better, since sloppy and urgent is precisely how he makes her feel. He’s little more than a boy, really. He shouldn’t affect her so, but he does.

She shakes her head each time he says, “we shouldn’t,” each time he groans, “I mustn’t,” each time he begs, “you can’t.”

“Shut up, Jon Snow,” she says, drawing her lips over the tip of him, circling him with her tongue until his thighs set up a violent tremor under her palms and his hands fist convulsively in her hair once more. “Shut up and consider yourself stolen.” She closes her lips around him, rolls his cock on the bed of her tongue, stealing his words as sure as she steals him.

“ _Val_ ,” he moans, a new edge of emotion in his voice, something tender and vulnerable that pleases her in a way she doesn’t entirely understand. It brings something hot and ferocious clawing up into her chest.

“You’re mine, Jon Snow,” she says, the words surprising her even as she says them, but she finds she means them. He surges against her mouth with a helpless sound at her words, his cock bumping her lips until she licks a stripe up the underside and tongues the spot just under the head that she knows will make him come. She works him with her hand through his release, admiring how it paints his belly white. “I’ve stolen you and you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” he agrees, reaching down to cup her cheeks with rough hands, holding her carefully and shaking with his release. Hearing him say it sends another crackle of feeling racing through her marrow.

“You’re mine,” she repeats fiercely, then her voice softens and she smiles against his hipbone where it pushes up sharp and narrow under his skin. “So next time don’t make me work so hard to have my way with you.” She hears his laughter, a throaty chuckle that makes her feel warm all over, and he tugs her up to lie at his side, tucked under his chin.

“You’d really like less of a challenge?” he asks, teasingly. She turns her face to his chest, bites the flesh over his ribs, lifts her face to allow him to kiss her and tangle his tongue with hers; he’s always more open after he comes, more affectionate, his defenses stripped away with his control.

“No,” she says, giving his lower lip an affectionate bite. “I don’t guess I would.” He’s not at all what she ever imagined for herself. She can’t really find it in her to care, is the thing of it, so she only kisses him once more, pushing her tongue deep. She’s ready to steal him again.


End file.
